AFTER MICHAEL JACKSON DIED
“His spirit slipped like steam from a kettle’s spout. Briefly he thought of his grandmother, and he wondered if he would see her soon, now that he was dead, now that his spirit was being lifted lightly; and as he saw the doctor from Las Vegas leaning over his body, pushing at his old bones, at his chest, at the muscles he had earned this spring under silver machines, he saw himself as beautiful; strange but beautiful; in sunglasses. It was so quiet. Like the desert Like honeymoon mornings”
read the rest of this great post on it’s original website.



